Deadpool & Wolverine (2024)

Score: 4.5 / 5

I even went into this expecting to be annoyed.

Deadpool, fun and irreverent as it is, has never been my favorite superhero series; partly due to its cheapening of the X-Men (my favorite), and partly due to its loud and crass fanbase, I've appreciated it from a safe distance. It didn't help, either, that the previous two films were nowhere near as subversive or clever as they were touted as being. For being what he is, the films never broke the mold -- or even pushed the mold -- of what superhero films can be, relying on tired tropes in each film's final act to remind us of the feel-good victories of a bad guy with a heart of gold. It's fun for some, and that's fine. It's just not for me.

So for this character and his filmmaking team to now assimilate into Disney's MCU was promising to be, pardon, a hot fucking mess. At a time when the MCU still can't figure out where it's going, how to get there, or why -- look at their recent announcement that all but rewrites what was to be Kang as the next Big Bad -- to add such a beloved character and make it fit in the chaos of multiverses had to have been a nightmare in the writers' room. Further, to add -- like Cable before him -- an iconic X-Man was easily the most dangerous thing they could have done. Even further, for it to be the one that was surely -- surely -- finally retired from the genre, and whose character is finally, certainly, dead, was almost too much to bear.

Some of my fears indeed came true. Jumping between universes and timelines happens via the Time Variance Authority, introduced in the bizarre series Loki, and the conceptual rewriting continues to teeter on the brink of pure nonsense. Characters are "brought back" and "reintroduced" ad nauseam, reinforcing the problem of the entertainment hamster wheel: when anyone and everyone can be repeatedly resurrected, there are no stakes in the story or in the real-life productions. Nothing matters anymore. Style succeeds over substance, most easily recognizable in an overwrought soundtrack that plays, obviously and often blandly, more like a three-dimensional character than any of the actual people being dramatized. Deadpool indeed starts the film without a girlfriend (Morena Baccarin), which makes no sense after the events of the previous film, and despite continual queerbaiting "humor" Ryan Reynolds never manages to actually queer the character. The villain (Casssandra, sister of Xavier, played by Emma Corrin) is rote and dull, stretching credibility even as her aims feel nonsensical; that's a lot to say in a film filled with the nonsensical, as a rule. And the endless parade of flagged references could fill a dissertation; one hopes that the film's home release will include on-screen footnotes so we know why certain characters and phrases are apparently important to the franchise as a whole.

All that is true, and I found my spirit tiring as I tried to keep up with the material while keeping my beer down.

And yet -- 

Deadpool & Wolverine is the most delightfully entertaining movie of the summer. At least it was for me. Not since The Fall Guy have I laughed so much in a packed auditorium. Even the Void and its bland villain couldn't relax my grin as Deadpool is introduced to countless variations of himself, including a female version (Blake Lively) and a cowboy version (Matthew McConaughey). More importantly, much like the most recent Spider-Man film (or The Flash, etc.), this one effectively ties together previous branches of Marvel properties and honors them. While we can certainly hope it's the last we'll see of some of them, it is really cool to see Jennifer Garner again as Elektra, Wesley Snipes as Blade (though his apparent shade at being recast is a glaring sour note here), and even Chris Evans as Human Torch. The return of Tyler Mane as Sabretooth was a fabulous touch, too, and the inclusion of Channing Tatum as Gambit had me in actual tears (of joy, of humor, of what I've always wanted from the franchise).

All that takes backseat, naturally, to the return of Hugh Jackman as a title character. When too many Marvel properties are being tied in and referenced, he manages to keep things locked down and grounded, along with his horny partner. The entourage of Marvel cast-offs get their heyday, and it makes more sense because this Wolverine is, in fact, a variation of the one we've loved for the past two decades. This one is surlier, and of course he's wearing the famous yellow costume. The film even provides more variants for him in a singular sequence that had our audience in stitches until one Henry Cavill materialized on screen and the room exploded. His character works really well in the Mad Max-inspired world that sets the bulk of this movie, and I'd have liked more pared-down material so we could really see these characterizations shine through the otherwise messy story.

It's all very amusing, and while that's not the most ringing endorsement, I appreciate the heart and joy that goes into a movie like this. The gimmicky stakes didn't work for me, and I wish the MCU would go back to smaller-scale battles for its heroes, but that's not the point of this story or production. Indeed, I'd rather have seen a super simplified and deeply silly story here: If Deadpool got this ugly/cute dog and it got abducted or sucked into a wormhole or something and he had to find it, enlisting the help of a reluctant Wolverine variant who thinks it's a cosmos-saving scheme, and it turns out to just be saving Deadpool's ugly dog. Think John Wick style, but funny, and David Leitch has been in this series, so the connection would make sense. Silly characters doing silly things require one thing these days: lowering the stakes. Stop making it about saving the multiverse! But if we're going to go there, and clearly that's what Disney is all about these days, I can't really be mad at it. It's a hell of a good time, and all the more rewarding if you've been a longtime fan of anything Marvel-related. At this point -- and I will absolutely regret saying this -- it's almost as if caring about good storytelling and the art of filmmaking is obsolete when fan service is this heartfelt and this effective.

American Fiction (2023)

Score: 5 / 5

One of the most surprising releases of this awards season, American Fiction hit cinemas somewhat unceremoniously in wide release in January and I had no idea what it was. If you'll forgive some geeky waxing here, I was stunned to learn it is the film adaptation of Erasure, a 2001 novel by Percival Everett that was my favorite read in grad school. It's an extraordinarily complex and riotously funny examination of commercial and academic discourse around the publication, marketing, and consuming of Black literature in America. That it has taken this long to find new life is surprising; then again, public discussion of critical race theory and antiracist movements in the last decade surely helped "rediscover" this gem. And indeed it is timely, as the Academy finally honors Black filmmakers and large movements have been mobilized to subvert, counter, and ignore mass market demands for typical, expected, "safe" stories about Black people focused on slavery, reconstruction, and urban crime. This material, on the other hand, flips the script literally, relocating where Black life and Black art meet in our culture and critiquing the racist powers that keep both in check.

Jeffrey Wright leads one of the best movies of the year with an award-worthy performance as Thelonious "Monk" Ellison, a college professor and academic author whose published works aren't exactly lucrative. Increasingly frustrated by the designation of his works on "African-American literature" shelves in bookstores and in the minds of the masses, he is further incensed when a colleague Sintara Golden (Issa Rae playing a character based on Juanita Mae Jenkins in the source material) publishes a bestselling sensation based on crude stereotypes and what he perceives as poor writing: We's Lives in Da Ghetto. Deciding that if this is the kind of trash paying customers, pandering critics, and media personalities will buy and praise, he'll make his mark, Monk crafts a joke novel along the same lines -- mostly nonsensical, artificially melodramatic and criminal, knowingly stereotypical -- entitling it My Pafology. To his horror, it's also a smash hit, swiftly eliciting awards nominations and contracts for film rights.

Having published it under a pseudonym -- the tongue-in-cheek "Stagg R. Leigh," named for the mythic murderer -- that carries with it a criminal persona, Monk soon has to arrange anonymous interviews, hiding his face and altering his voice to sound more "hood" and dangerous while concealing his real identity. While his alter ego becomes the talk of the nation, Monk himself balances his new income with his simmering rage, at one point hilariously changing his title to simply Fuck in the hopes of having it finally blacklisted (so to speak), only to have it embraced by his white, elite publishers. Meanwhile, his private life takes some nasty turns when his sister (Tracee Ellis Ross) passes away, his brother (Sterling K. Brown) returns from his life of alcoholism, recreational drugs, and sexual abandon in the wake of his divorce, and their mother (Leslie Uggams) declines with Alzheimer's disease. These family woes exacerbate Monk's wrestle with identity, kinship, and belonging.

The weightier elements fortunately do not, in fact, weigh down the film. Screenwriter and director (in his debut!) Cord Jefferson deftly adapts the material into a fast-paced, intelligently hilarious roller coaster of emotions that provokes tears from laughter and sympathy. The family dynamics are the most real and raw, but not in a tragic way, despite their issues; the family's live-in housekeeper Lorraine (Myra Lucretia Taylor) shines the brightest light into Monk's life and into the film, followed closely by his new girlfriend Coraline (Erika Alexander). Monk's journey -- his dubious pilgrim's progress -- would not be possible without the often breathtaking insight of these characters he brushes up against, who often also help us like Monk more. Because, rude and snobbish and stubborn as he is, he's not particularly likable, even though he's our conduit for learning through increasingly complex issues.

Deadpool (2016)

Score: 3 / 5

Subversive. Daring. Antihero. Naughty. If you've heard anything about this movie, these are some of the words you've heard slung around. And while Deadpool is anything but your typical Marvel fare, I'm not sure that even half of its hyped-up, commercialized descriptors are accurate. It's rude, crude, fast, and furious, to be sure, but its fevered hilarity is about the only thing that makes the film work.

Wade Wilson (Ryan Reynolds), diagnosed with cancer, seeks a cure from a shady figure that leaves him scarred and imbued with superpower; he spends the rest of the movie seeking revenge and to reclaim his love interest (Morena Baccarin). That's it. That's the plot. Nothing subversive. Nothing novel or intriguing. But then, the skeletal plot is surely necessary for its tone to shine through, carried with madcap grace by its star. Screenwriters Rhett Reese and Paul Wernick have done a rather remarkable thing in crafting the film's rakish, jokey tone. Maybe I'm just not used to this kind of comedy, but the rapid-fire dialogue, outrageous one-liners, campy fourth-wall breaking, and meta references are far more engaging and entertaining than any of the action sequences.

Of course, the movie sells its tone far more successfully than any of its particular jokes. Sure, there are several gems delivered by a pitch-perfect Ryan Reynolds. But the vast majority of quips and jabs fall like rain on a flood; I mean, there are really only so many times you can hear queerbaiting dick jokes in a movie before it gets annoying. In fact, director Tom Miller and his team seem to be desperate to make us like the movie, firing so many consecutive "money shots" (as Deadpool would say) at us that sometimes I found myself laughing at the sheer audacity of Marvel rather than any particular feature on screen. My favorite scene to this end was the one in which Deadpool attacks Colossus (made of metal) and ends up shattering his limbs in the process. It's that kind of self-aware, violent charisma that is so intoxicating, I found myself crying from laughter for minutes afterward.

For all its tonal naughtiness, though, there is little else noteworthy here. And maybe there doesn't need to be. The Deadpool we see is anything but an antihero, and there's nothing particularly subversive or profound going on. Where we all might have hoped for a turning of tables, a film in which the superhero genre was cast aside and mayhem ensued, what we get is a straightforward origin story with a heteronormative (albeit sexually confident and adventurous) hero who, though he is a fan of violence and murder, is justified in terms of the film and earns the sympathies of the audience.

Maybe a sequel will do those things. Maybe this one just had to stretch the mold before it makes a life of its own. Maybe I should just be happy that this movie succeeds where all too many other superhero movies fail. Maybe I should just be happy that this one doesn't take itself too seriously. Maybe this is the superhero movie we deserve, but not the one we needed right now. Maybe I got that backwards.

IMDb: Deadpool